Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • The people that come and go from her house are almost all men, although I don't think she's sleeping with many of them. I can see shadows and shapes through her curtains, even watched her host a few parties. She's a modern day Holly Golightly, only she's transformed the character from a piss-poor, damsel in distress that always manages to save herself unknowingly to a humbly wealthy and brilliant writer who's charm and wit are as effortless as her style.
    If you didn't know she was a writer– and an excellent on at that– one might make the assumption of "daddy's money," but that would be untrue. To watch this glamorous creature from afar is intriguing. I sometimes see her wandering around the backyard, cigarette in one hand and pen in the other. Occasionally she drags an old typewriter out there, presumably to bang on the keys and remind the neighborhood that someone brilliant lives among them.
    The flicker of a television illuminating a dark room sometimes appears and I picture her staring at the news but not listening– just staring, smoking her cigarette, an expression of faraway thinking on her face.
    She drives a dark red 1962 MGB Roadster in perfect condition and complete with a drop top. It roars down the street when shes in a hurry, her red hair in the wind. Where she got the car is a mystery, but it suits her perfectly. When she wasn't holed up in her house, you'd see her running to the car parked right outside, hear it roar down the street and she would be gone, off to some glamorous booze filled party to mingle with the wealthy and famous. She would return hours later, walk casually up the steps, pause to light a cigarette and slowly go inside.
    Sometimes I see her leave with a suitcase that she would carelessly toss in the back of the Roadster and take off, leaving her house empty for days at a time. It dawns on me that I might not ever find out where she goes.

    This snapshot of another human's life is intriguing to me. I know so little about her, yet could write pages about her.
    I wonder if she ever watches me.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.